


Fitting Pieces

by teyla



Series: Schism [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-27
Updated: 2008-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-02 17:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teyla/pseuds/teyla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House and Wilson get locked out and have to spend the night on the roof of PPTH, which gives them time to confront some issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fitting Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to _Schism_, which can be found here at the archive as well.
> 
> **Beta**: Euclase, Wihluta

"Fuck, Wilson. Why can't you ever be mopey on the balcony when it's warm?"

Wilson didn't so much as twitch his shoulders. House blamed the cane. It made sneaking up on people and startling them out of their mopey blues so much harder. Not that he had ever tried it with many people. Actually, he had only ever tried it with Wilson.

Wilson did answer, though. "This isn't the balcony," he said without looking around.

House came up beside him and rested his elbows on the railing next to Wilson's. He squinted against the evening sun that hung red and orange and bright on the horizon.

"No, it's the roof. Striking observation. It's still balcony-moping, though."

This made Wilson turn his head and narrow his eyes at him in confusion. "Balcony-moping?" he asked.

House rolled his eyes and indicated Wilson's clothing. Unlike House, who had both a coat and a scarf, Wilson wasn't wearing a suit jacket, or even a lab coat. "You're in short sleeves, outside, in early March. You're alone and staring into the setting sun with an expression as if someone just killed your favorite puppy. And you're bitching me out over semantics. This is a definite case of balcony-moping."

"I don't have a puppy," Wilson said, turning away again. "It's mid-March, and I'm not specifically staring at anything. Neither am I -"

"- bitching me out over semantics?" House asked with a raised eyebrow and felt a small surge of satisfaction when an expression of surprise ghosted over Wilson face, followed closely by a small upwards-quirk of the corners of his mouth.

"One out of four," Wilson said. "Not your best score ever, House."

House went back to looking out over the town as well. He had to admit that the way the evening light painted everything red was sort of nice. "You can't win them all. Right?"

The smile disappeared from Wilson's face, and his lips thinned out as he pressed them together. "Right," he said after a moment and flicked a small pebble off the roof.

House knew that if this were your average buddy friendship, this would be his cue to tell Wilson that Julie was a selfish bitch not worth the neurotransmitters Wilson was wasting thinking about her. That a woman who cheated on her husband and then stayed in the house while the husband ended up being the one sleeping on his best friend's lumpy couch was right up there on the irritating scale with migraines and mosquitoes. That they should go for a drink, and House was buying.

He didn't say any of these things. Instead, he was silent for another few moments and then raised an eyebrow at Wilson again. "Planning on staying here much longer?"

"Why?" Wilson didn't look around. "Is there someplace else I should be?"

House was tempted to scoff at the self-pity, but the lack of a reaction he was anticipating from Wilson somehow didn't make it seem worth the trouble. "It's cold, and I don't feel like taking the bus."

"You could have driven in yourself this morning. With one of your _two_ _cars_."

House shrugged. "Didn't feel like it. Felt like coming in with you."

Wilson looked at him disapprovingly. "Right," he said. "And now you feel like making me give you a ride back."

"In your comfortable, air-conditioned state-of-the-art Volvo, yes." Wilson looked even more disapproving, and House shrugged. "It's not like you're doing anything important, anyway. You can be mopey at home. On the couch, if you want."

Wilson snorted. "That's generous of you." He didn't argue any more, though, but pushed himself off the wall. "Alright, let's go. But I'm not going to be late tomorrow because of you. If you want a ride, you'd better be ready to leave when I am."

"Yeah yeah yeah. Two cars, remember?"

Wilson rolled his eyes but didn't answer. He turned away, and for a moment, House simply stood there and watched him walk away, taking in the broad shoulders moving under the thin fabric of the light blue shirt, the hair that was more ruffled than usual and the way Wilson's hands were buried in his pockets, making his posture seem a little hunched.

Before any thoughts could surface from his subconscious, House firmly turned his eyes away and began to follow Wilson towards the door to the staircase.

He walked around the corner and almost ran into Wilson, who was standing in front of the metal security door. House stopped and put a hand against the wall to brace himself. "Are we going inside or what?" he asked.

"House, what time is it?"

"I don't know. Something like half past six. Why?"

"Oh, brilliant." Wilson let his hands drop at his side and turned around to face House. "I think we just got ourselves locked out."

"What?" House used his cane to push Wilson aside and reached out. He tried to turn the door knob, but it wouldn't go. He rattled on it, but all it would do was move back and forth mere millimeters. Finally, he banged his cane against the door and turned around to Wilson. "Tell me again, why the hell am I out here?"

Wilson exhaled sharply and threw up his hands. "This is great." He looked around as if he were hoping to spot another exit--which House knew there was none--and then back at House. "You're friends with janitor guy. When does he get off work?"

"Well, obviously sometime after he locked the door to the roof." House turned his glare from Wilson to the door and then back to Wilson. "You got your cell phone with you?"

-###-

Two hours later, House and Wilson were sitting on the roof of PPTH, leaning against the wall of the stairwell and staring at the lights of an airplane passing over them through the night sky. House was twirling his cane between his palms, and Wilson had stuffed his hands under his arms to keep them warm.

"Who buys a two hundred dollar cell phone just to let the battery run out, and then leaves it on the coffee table while they're out getting themselves locked out on a roof?"

"My cell phone is at home _and_ out of juice," House countered. "Yours, on the other hand, is in the pocket of your lab coat, which you left in your office for indiscernible reasons. My excuse is better than yours."

Wilson made a low sound in the back of his throat but didn't reply, instead huddling a little closer to the wall. "What do you suggest we do now?" he asked after a short while.

House shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"

"We could yell some more."

"Yes, because that worked so well when we first tried it."

"Why is there no one down there, anyway? There should be people in the park."

House raised an eyebrow. "Like who?"

"I don't know. Students."

"At home studying. Or partying their brains out, more likely."

"Patients, then."

"The only patients who go outside are the smokers, and they're all up front in the parking lot."

Wilson shifted and frowned, a stubborn expression on his face. "Okay, what about staff, then?"

House snorted. "Yeah, right. Because you'd totally hang out in the park after dark instead of getting comfortable in the oncology lounge with a cup of coffee and a big plasma TV."

Wilson sighed in frustration and shook his head. "I'm not staying out here all night," he said. "It's freezing."

"Should have taken your lab coat with you."

"Give it a rest, House."

House was silent for a while, looking around. Their surroundings didn't present him with any means of escape any more than two hours ago, though.

"We could take off our clothes, tie them together and rappel down to the top windows," he said and shifted a little to get more comfortable. "At least _you_ could. And then you could call the janitor guy for the keys and get me out of here."

"I'm not rappelling down any high buildings in my underwear. Especially not when it's dark."

House raised his eyebrows and looked around. "You would if it were daylight?"

Wilson leaned his head back and drew his knees even closer. "No," he said. "Probably not."

"Probably not," House echoed. "Wilson, I underestimated you. I didn't think I'd even get as much as a _probably not_ from you."

House could see Wilson smile a little. "Well, what can I say. Danger's my middle name. Besides, it's getting really damn cold."

House took a moment to look at Wilson and saw that he was shivering. House was pretty sure that his teeth were not chattering only because he was clenching them together.

"I'm not giving you my coat," he said.

"I wouldn't want it if you did."

"Good." House shifted again. His leg was really starting to hurt. "It wouldn't fit you anyway."

-###-

"This thing is a lot warmer than it looks," Wilson said. House tried to glare at him, which wasn't easy because for one thing, it was dark, and for another, Wilson was sitting so close that House would have had to lean back to actually look at him, thus leaving the warm shelter of the coat.

"It's really nice to know just how much you appreciate this," House said through clenched teeth. Since he'd given up sole possession of his coat about an hour ago, the cold had managed to creep in, and House was shivering despite his shirt and jacket and Wilson's warm body that was pressed up against his side. Considering this, he did feel a small twinge of guilt at the fact that he had waited four hours before he had let Wilson have part of the coat, but House ignored it. After all, it was Wilson's fault they were out here in the first place.

Wilson didn't answer, but only snuck an arm behind House's back and snuggled up to him even closer. For a moment, House thought about pushing him away, but then he stayed where he was. He could feel that Wilson was still shivering, even if the rapid chatter of his teeth that had made House finally take off his coat had stopped. The way things looked at the moment, they'd be out here for at least another seven hours. They needed to find some way to keep warm. This worked as well as anything else.

"This is ridiculous," Wilson said, his voice sounding overly loud so close to House's ear. "There should be some sort of failsafe to prevent stuff like this from happening."

"Like what?" House considered moving to get his pill bottle, but then decided against it. He'd taken one half an hour ago. If that one refused to work, another one in such rapid succession wouldn't have any more effect. "Two sets of parachutes on the roof?"

"A phone would do."

House snorted. "Age of cellular technology, remember?"

Wilson made a grunt that to House sounded both frustrated and a little exasperated, but he didn't say anything. They were silent for a while, and then House spoke up, pushing his elbow into Wilson's ribs for emphasis. "You couldn't have waited another couple of days to break up with Julie?" he asked. "If you were still living with her, I think she'd miss you by now."

Wilson snorted, but it didn't sound very amused. "I'm not so sure of that."

House blinked and raised his eyebrows. "I thought she was the one who had a reason not to come home at night," he said. "Did you by any chance not tell me the truth, Jimmy?"

This time, the sound Wilson made was definitely one of annoyance. "Will you stop it, House? It happened the way I told you. She cheated, I didn't. I actually tried to make it work this time."

"Oh, as opposed to the other times?"

"House-" House could feel Wilson stir, but he didn't move away. "I took each of my marriages seriously. Apparently I'm doing something wrong. If I knew what it was I'd change it, but I don't."

"You don't?" House made a surprised face, even though he knew Wilson couldn't see it.

"No."

"Eighteen years not time enough to figure it out?"

"The first time I got married was twenty years ago."

"Yes," House said. "First time you got divorced, however, was eighteen years ago. Shortly after I met you."

Wilson didn't answer for quite a while, and House had just opened his mouth to say something more--he wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to say what he was about to say, but Wilson's silence was almost begging him--when Wilson did speak up. "Not now, House," he said quietly. "Not here."

House closed his mouth and stared into the darkness. Wilson was so close that House could feel his heartbeat when he concentrated on it. _Okay, Wilson_, he thought, not without a touch of bitterness. _Not now. Not ever. I get it._

-###-

Wilson had fallen asleep about an hour ago. His breathing was slow and regular, and he wasn't shivering as badly as before. House shifted, carefully trying to get his legs into a new position without waking Wilson up. His arm--the one that was wedged between him and Wilson--had fallen asleep. Carefully, he pulled it back and for a moment held it awkwardly in front of him before he gave a mental shrug and put it around Wilson's shoulders.

When his fingers brushed over the bare skin of Wilson's neck, House felt a pang of worry at the icy cold under his fingertips. Without really thinking about it, he pulled Wilson a little closer. Wilson grunted in his sleep, but he didn't wake up. House felt a small, bitter tasting smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Wilson had always been a heavy sleeper; in House's experience, it took some effort to wake him before his scheduled time to get up. Maybe that was why Wilson always got up at seven thirty in the morning, no matter if it was a work day or not--because he couldn't get himself to wake up at any other time of the day.

House shook his head to chase those random thoughts away. For all he knew, Wilson got up at seven thirty every day because he had believed his mother when she had told little Jimmy that only lazy good-for-nothings slept longer than that. Or maybe it was simply masochism. House wouldn't be surprised either way.

He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The fingers of his left hand--the one that was around Wilson's shoulder--were brushing against the soft strands of hair in the nape of Wilson's neck, and without really thinking about what he was doing, House began to play with them.

He'd always loved Wilson's hair. Loved to touch it, loved to smell it. Soft, warm, thick enough so House could bury his hand in it and hold on to a handful without hurting Wilson. He'd loved to do that, could very well remember how he'd done it, looking down at Wilson's dark head and reaching out to touch, to feel, to claim.

In the past four years, House had rarely allowed his thoughts to wander in that direction. He'd kept the memories locked away with all the other memories that he wouldn't let himself wallow in--how it felt to come home after a six-mile run, hot and sweaty and high on endorphins, how it felt to have someone other than a grumpy fat rat waiting for you at home, how it felt not to be in pain. All those things were over and lost, and thinking about them was useless and distracting.

He couldn't help it now, though. Wilson was getting divorced. Wilson had been kicked out by Julie and had not gone to a hotel but had come to him. House knew what that meant. They had both done this before and knew the drill. Wilson would be gone as soon as he found a willing female with a set of boobs big enough to make a handful--but no bigger; according to Wilson, boobs bigger than that were a waste of material better applied in other places--but until then, all bets were off.

House knew Wilson well enough. The man would do anything just to avoid being alone.

The way they were sitting huddled together under the coat, House barely had to move to bring his hand to Wilson's lap. He put it over Wilson's crotch and began to rub, gently, softly, feeling around with his fingers and thumb. At the same time he turned his head and brought his lips to Wilson's ear.

"Hey," he whispered. "Hey, Wilson. Wake up."

Being the heavy sleeper that he was, Wilson barely stirred, but House could feel a hardness beginning to grow under his fingers. With a quick, experienced movement House undid Wilson's belt and button and slid his hand into his pants, continuing to stroke him through the fabric of his underwear.

"Time to get up," he said, and when that didn't evoke any reaction, he slid even closer and gently blew into Wilson's ear.

That did it. Wilson flinched and tried to pull back, but House held onto him and wouldn't let him move away. Finally, Wilson blinked his eyes open. "Wha-"

House pressed down a little firmer, and Wilson's sleepy eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. House could feel him move into the touch.

"House, what- what're you doing?"

House smirked. "I thought you of all people would know."

Wilson's cock was fully erect now, and House let off for a moment to work his hand into Wilson's boxers and wrap his fingers around the hot, smooth flesh. As soon as skin came in contact with skin, Wilson gave a small gasp. House tightened his arm around Wilson and drew him closer, until he could feel Wilson's breath on his neck. He began a gentle massage; squeeze, let loose, squeeze, let loose, the way he knew Wilson liked it.

He'd always taken a secret pride in the fact that if he wanted to, he could make Wilson come in less than three minutes.

Soon enough, Wilson was panting and squirming underneath his hands, and House held on to him, keeping him in place. He was literally concentrating on the task at hand, waiting for that little twitch that meant that it would only take a few more good strokes and maybe a thumb run quickly over the head to finish Wilson off. So it came as a surprise to him when Wilson worked one hand free and grabbed his wrist, gripping it firmly and effectively stopping any movement.

"Don't," he panted, and swallowed. "Don't do that."

House didn't move or say anything for a moment. Suddenly, he felt ridiculous, sitting here on the roof of PPTH, holding Wilson's cock in his hand and frozen in place like some grotesque statue. He didn't let go, though.

"Why not?" He tried to start moving his hand again, but Wilson only clamped down firmer and held him in place. House felt himself getting angry. "What?" he snapped. "Are you developing a sense of morale all of a sudden?"

Wilson didn't answer, but pulled House's hand from his pants and pushed him away. House jerked his hand back and for a moment simply stared down at Wilson, who was avoiding his eyes and buttoning up his pants.

"I know," he muttered, quietly enough so House almost missed it. "I'm sorry."

House wanted nothing more than to get up and walk away, but the furthest that would have brought him was the other side of the roof, and that would be pointless. He took out his pills instead and swallowed one, ignoring Wilson who had stopped moving and was now sitting with his knees drawn up and his face turned away.

House considered mocking him, but anything he could think of to say belittled the anger he was feeling, so he kept quiet.

Silence prevailed for the rest of the night.

-###-

At ten minutes after seven the next morning, House heard the janitor's key turn in the lock of the stairwell door. Lou was more than a little surprised to find them there, but true to his silent nature, he didn't ask a lot of questions. House went straight to his office to call Cuddy and tell her that he and Wilson would not be in today, having done enough overtime that night to earn themselves a day off. Cuddy was highly amused by his story, but quickly stopped her more or less amicable mocking when House refused to take the bait, answering her with tense silence. She said her goodbyes and hung up, clearly a bit puzzled by his behavior.

Well, Cuddy was a big girl. She'd get over it. It wasn't as if this was any of her business anyway.

When he and Wilson got home, House was first to enter the apartment. He headed straight for the kitchen with the vague idea of getting himself something to eat. Mostly, he just didn't want to stay still long enough to give Wilson a chance to launch into the lecture or whatever it was that House had watched building up in him ever since they'd left PPTH. House was pretty sure that whatever it was, he didn't want to hear it.

But then, that had never stopped Wilson.

There was the click of the apartment door closing, and then House heard steps in the living room that announced Wilson's approach. He didn't turn around, but he was still all too aware of Wilson standing in the doorway and watching him.

"House," Wilson said finally. "Can we talk?"

House didn't answer. He opened the fridge and found himself looking at empty shelves and an ancient milk carton. For a second, he felt something like panic--nothing to eat, nothing to occupy himself with, nothing to communicate to Wilson to leave him the hell alone--so he simply turned around and walked over to the sink, running hot water and picking up the brush.

It was something to do. He'd rather clean the dishes all week than listen to Wilson right now.

"House. I think we really need to talk." House heard Wilson shuffle his feet. "If you want to throw me out, I get that. I'll go. It's just that I think-"

"You can stay if you want," House said, surprising himself. "You can sleep on the couch or something."

There was a pause. "Thanks," Wilson said then. From the corner of his eyes, House could see him take a step into the room. "Look, I. . . listen, House, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have. . ."

"Shouldn't have what?" House frowned, but didn't look up. The problem with mostly eating out or eating nothing at all was that there were almost no dishes to clean. A spoon, a knife, a fork, and two plates were all there were. House rinsed the second plate a lot longer than would have been necessary. "Shouldn't have come here? Shouldn't have left her? Shouldn't have married her? What?"

Wilson didn't answer. House heard footsteps on the tiled floor, followed by the scrape of a chair as Wilson sat down. He dried the plate in his hand and put it in a random cupboard before he reached for his cane and turned around.

Wilson was looking up at him.

"I never wanted it to be like this," Wilson said. "I never- thought it would be this way. I was hoping-"

"Shut up, will you?" House pushed himself off the kitchen counter and limped past Wilson into the living room. "I'm not some heart-broken little girl you need to sweet-talk into liking you even after you dumped her. That thing between us is what it is. I have no problem with picking up where we left off, but if you've suddenly found some sort of ethical guideline for your sex life, then that's your decision."

He slumped onto the couch and turned on the TV. For a few moments, he stared at the screen, not remotely aware of what was on, but trying for an air of indifferent dismissal.

Then the light from the TV was blocked out by a body stepping in front of the screen. House looked up, narrowing his eyes at Wilson, who was standing there with his arms for once not on his hips, but crossed over his chest. "But that's just it, House," he said in a low voice. "Where did we leave off?"

"Get out of the way," House said, but Wilson didn't budge. Instead, he turned around and hit the screen's off-button. The image disappeared in a whoosh of static.

House dropped his head against the backrest, trying to communicate resigned annoyance. Faking his body language wasn't as easy as usual, though. Maybe because usually, he wasn't faking, only exaggerating. At the moment, what he was feeling couldn't in any way be described as annoyance.

"We didn't leave off, House." Wilson was still standing there, and House wished he'd sit down already. "I walked out. I left. I shouldn't have, but I did, even though you said you didn't want me to."

Fuck. House had known even then that what he was doing was a mistake. He'd known it would come back to bite him in the ass. "I never said that."

"Not in so many words, no."

"And even if I did, what makes you think I haven't changed my mind?" House raised his head to look up at Wilson.

Wilson licked his lips. "You told me I could stay."

House snorted. "Right. So if I tell you to fuck off, you'll go and leave me the hell alone with your psychobabble?"

Wilson didn't break eye contact. "If you tell me to go, I'll leave. Without another word."

House was just about to open his mouth to tell Wilson yes, please, get the hell out of here, when Wilson caught his eyes and the answer got stuck halfway up his throat.

Fuck.

"Don't be an idiot," he said quickly to cover up the awkward silence. "No reason for you to spend money on a hotel room when I've got a perfectly fine couch and a need for free transportation to and from work."

"So. . . you want me to stay."

House rolled his eyes, but stopped quickly when he felt the movement evoking a dull pain behind his eyelids. "I don't want you to stay. I just don't want you sulking in a hotel room."

Wilson drew in a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. "House-" He dropped his hand at his side and met House's eyes. "Can we please drop the act? I don't know about you, but it's stopped working for me a couple of years ago."

"Has it." House reached for his cane and levered himself to his feet. It was as if his confused emotions had finally found one thing to concentrate on, and that was a hot, throat-clenching fury. He licked his lips. "Then why, if it's stopped working for you a couple of years ago, did it take you this long to come here? If you knew that your nice, pretty, heterosexual wife and your nice, pretty, heterosexual life were nothing but a fucking chickenshit _joke_, why did you wait until _Julie_ finally decided it was time she found herself a real husband?"

Wilson just stared up at him for a few moments, his eyes wide. Then he closed them and took a step backwards, running his tongue over his lower lip in a quick motion. "I don't know," he said quietly. He sounded defeated. "I'm sorry."

House watched him turn away, and as suddenly as it had appeared before, his anger changed into something else. He quickly reached out with his cane and hooked it over Wilson's arm.

It wasn't very effective, since the cane slipped off almost immediately, but the gesture did its job of stopping Wilson. He turned around and looked at House with a confused, vulnerable expression in his eyes, and House eliminated the distance between them with a couple of awkward steps. He reached up and grabbed a handful of Wilson's shirt, firmly but not ungently. Their eyes, now no more than a few inches apart, met.

"You're fucking hopeless," House said.

Wilson blinked, and House could see a tentative glint of hope lighting up in his eyes. "I am?"

"You are," he said, and tried to suppress a smirk that was tugging on the corner of his lips. "Completely hopeless."

Before Wilson could say anything--Wilson sure knew how to lecture, but in a situation like this, House was sure anything he'd say would lead to disaster--House pulled Wilson in and met his lips in a fierce kiss.

It took him a second, but then Wilson reciprocated, and moments later House was steering Wilson backwards, past the couch and towards the bedroom. He'd dropped his cane at some point and was holding onto Wilson for balance. Their progress couldn't be called elegant, but what it lacked in grace it made up in passion. When they reached the bedroom, Wilson's hair and shirt were disheveled, the look in his wide eyes cloudy and glazed over, and House's cock was achingly hard, straining against the zipper of his jeans.

He pulled back enough to give Wilson a firm push, and took a certain satisfaction in watching him lose his balance and tumble back onto the bed. He stood over him, looking down, and felt a strong wave of desire wash through him. Except desire was too tame a word; he was horny, plain and simple, and his need to claim was so strong it bordered on painful.

House reached for the button of his jeans and quickly unzipped, shedding his clothes as fast as he could. Wilson was doing the same, struggling out of his shirt, fighting with stubborn, still-buttoned shirt cuffs and kicking off his pants, exposing a straining erection. House watched him, and at the sight couldn't help but reach down and give himself a couple of quick, hard strokes.

The touch burned like fire through his over-stimulated nerves.

"Turn around," he said, his voice harsh and breathless, and Wilson obeyed immediately, turning on his stomach. House licked his lips that had suddenly dried out, and then he joined Wilson on the bed, clambering over him until he was half straddling, half lying on top of him.

They had done this position before, although not very often. House could do it, and would be okay throughout the actual sex, but it would hurt like a bitch afterwards.

Today, he didn't care. Today, he fucking _wanted_ the pain.

There was a bottle of lubricant in the nightstand's drawer, and as he leaned over Wilson to get it, his cock pressed into Wilson's thigh. House exhaled a harsh breath, thrusting his hips once, twice, feeling Wilson press up against him, before he managed to pull himself together enough to get the lube.

He knelt over Wilson, squirting the cool, slick stuff onto the middle and index finger of his right hand and looking down at the body below him; a long, smooth back with broad shoulders; a slender neck and Wilson's hair, thick and disheveled and all House's to touch and feel and possess.

"Fucking hopeless," House breathed, shifting so he'd be able to easily reach Wilson's ass. "Goddamn fucking _hopeless_." He squeezed Wilson's buttock on the last word, not too gently, and Wilson gasped underneath him, hips writhing. House held him firmly in place and slid his slick fingers down Wilson's cleft towards his hole, running his fingers over the tight muscle there, pressing down, impatiently willing Wilson to relax.

Wilson was tense, but not as tense as House would have expected him to be after four years of being out of practice. He grinned slyly in realization.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, pushing in one finger up to the first joint, holding onto Wilson as he moaned and squirmed under him. "Did you miss being fucked? Did you make her fuck you?" He pushed in further, and Wilson moaned again, louder, making House's cock throb harder and leak a few drops of pre-come.

"Or did you do it yourself, in secret, scared shitless that someone might find out?" A second finger joined the first, and Wilson was opening up to him, accepting him willingly, even starting to push back against him. House pushed in deep, stretching and widening with his fingers, remembering only too well all the ways to make Wilson buck and moan beneath him. He added a third finger and gave a last, hard push before he pulled back. He quickly ran his lube-slicked fingers over his own cock, the touch multiplied by a thousand and echoing through his nervous system. Then he pressed his cock against Wilson and pushed into him in one smooth, steady stroke.

Wilson's moans changed into a strangled, breathless cry, and House could feel him pushing back against him until he was all the way in. He stayed completely still for a moment, holding tightly to Wilson for balance, and closed his eyes. He'd almost forgotten this feeling, this sensation of being buried in Wilson, a hot, tight space enclosing his cock and sending waves of burning pleasure to every part of his body.

_You're mine_, he thought. _Goddammit, Wilson, you're_ mine.

He began moving then, hesitantly at first, the memories coming back to him with every thrust, but it wasn't long before he was pounding into Wilson, his own harsh breathing mingling with Wilson's gasps and groans, his cock sending hard, overwhelming impulses through his body, his leg straining and screaming under the exertion.

He could feel Wilson shudder underneath him as he neared his climax, and felt his muscles clench around him. He plunged in again; two, three more thrusts, before he felt his orgasm wash through him. He dug his fingers into Wilson's sides and held himself upright until the last of the waves had abated; then all the strength ran out of him and he collapsed onto the other man, panting and completely spent.

It was a while before either of them moved.

House felt Wilson stir underneath him, and rather unwillingly he rolled off him over onto his back. Peering out from under the lids of his half-closed eyes, he watched Wilson get up and pad out to the bathroom. He returned with a towel, which he used to clean them both up, then House felt a nudge against his side.

"Move over," Wilson said. House complied, shifting over to one side of the bed and tugging and pulling until he was lying underneath the blanket rather than on top of it. Wilson walked around the bed and got in on the other side, sliding over to get closer to House.

House watched him warily but said nothing.

To House's relief and Wilson's credit, Wilson did not try to hug or cuddle him.

He did prop himself up on one elbow, though, and looked down at House long enough for House to almost start to feel uncomfortable. Before House could make up his mind to say something, though, Wilson opened his mouth.

"Yeah," he said, a note of amused wonder in his tone. "I did miss you."

Then Wilson leaned down and kissed him again, and this time, the kiss came with a feeling other than mere lust, something that House didn't want to put a name to right now. It made him think that maybe, if Wilson had tried to hug him just now, it wouldn't have been all that unbearable.

After a few moments, House broke off the kiss and put a hand against Wilson's chest, pushing him back towards his side of the bed.

"Go to sleep," he said gruffly. "And don't you dare snore."

Wilson smiled at that and withdrew towards his pillow, wriggling under his blanket until he was comfortable. "Wake me before you get up, alright?" he said, his words already slightly slurred. House only grunted noncommittally, which seemed good enough for Wilson, since he turned around and pulled the blanket up, settling down for a probably long-overdue nap.

House knew he wouldn't be sleeping any time soon. He hadn't slept at all last night, and he was definitely tired, but his leg was killing him and his thoughts were in overdrive, his mind supplying a thousand scenarios and then just as quickly discarding them as if House were nothing more than a spectator standing on the sidelines of his imagination.

This was scary, too fucking scary to just go to sleep in the middle of it. Yet, lying in bed with Wilson's unmoving form beside him, House found he felt okay. Scared, in pain, maybe a bit angry, but okay.

It felt right to him. For now, anyway.


End file.
